


snowfall — haoshua [svtbenandbenficfest]

by amore_eel



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, FUCK, Friends to Lovers, GOD i wrote this in like three hours, M/M, i got inspiration and didn't stop, svtxbenandbenficfest, this is so yearny, wrote this for a fic fest on twitter!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amore_eel/pseuds/amore_eel
Summary: joshua knows what they say about the first snowfall; you fall in love with whoever you're with when it happens. minghao knows, too, and he has just the plan to get himself alone with the one boy he wants to be with on this year's snowday.(only it doesn't exactly go as planned.)
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Kudos: 3





	1. snowfall; taglish ver.

**Author's Note:**

> so i may have forgotten, just a lil, that this takes place in the philippines, but i managed so save it like halfway through. so take the title with a grain of salt :D also, i wrote two versions of this; a taglish one, for #svtxbenandbenficfest on twitter, and an english one for my non-tagalog speaking friends to read!! the english one is in the second chapter ^__^ happy reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the taglish version!! the next chapter is the english version, so u can read either if u want to!! or both, whatever u want :DD this work does incorporate a lot of filipino traditions though, so apologies if u don't understand anything ;__;

minghao has everything under control.

he’s planned today out meticulously; from the time he’d wake up, what he’d bring to school, what he was going to wear, the time he was going to _actually do the thing_ (because he will! he swears!), to how he’d spend the rest of the day after actually doing the thing. 

minghao had taken it upon himself, with the help of mingyu and seokmin, to plan today out down to the t. he’d woken up at seven in the morning, just as he’d wanted, dressed in something warm but suitably casual for spending the day after school with his barkada somewhere nice (he left this up to mingyu, which, knowing him, would probably be some unnecessarily large and expansive mall). he has the box of bibingka tucked in the top of his bag.

he closes the door to his dorm with a fond smile at the small tupperware (that used to have another type of kakanin in it, most likely — also courtesy of mingyu) through the opened zipper of his bag. this was joshua’s tita’s recipe; it was his favorite, and also the _most_ important part in his plan today. it is very, _very_ important that the bibingka is kept safe, and that _nothing_ gets in the way of the activities today — predetermined and discussed the day before with the rest of the group.

minghao _thinks_ he has everything under control. he was going to ask joshua if he could spend next weekend with him alone — _“akala ko ba best friend mo ako?”_ he’d say, pouting (probably, because joshua was decidedly not immune to that stuff), and then joshua would agree and they’d spend saturday together. saturday, together, _alone,_ because the first snowfall of the year was forecasted to happen that day.

seeing as minghao had previously thought he had everything under control, one could only imagine the surprise he felt when joshua had bounced up to him before they even left for breakfast starbucks (kasi maldita nga si mingyu), asking _minghao_ to spend saturday with _him_ instead.

“h-ha?” minghao blinks at joshua, at a loss for words. “anong pinagsasabi mo?” it comes out a lot more masungit than he intended. oops.

joshua pouts, tugging at minghao’s sleeve (at parang nakakaraoke yung puso ni minghao nung nilapit pa ni joshua ng mukha niya). “sige na! my mom won’t be here naman this weekend, so she suggested to me na yayain kita to spend the day together! we can go to simbang gabi, magsisimula naman siya on saturday, tapos pasyal nalang pagkatapos!” he smiles brightly at minghao, whose insides melt like hot taho at the sight.

and alam naman natin na marupok si minghao. “well…”

  
  
  


minghao does _not_ have everything under control.

_puta_ . he can practically feel himself heating up even as joshua pulls him out of the church, a somber silence around the two to pay respects to the religious monument. _listen_ , when minghao agreed to go out with joshua on december 17th, he really didn’t expect it to come so _fast_ — christmas break had started and they’d all dropped their schoolwork at the first cold draft that blew through their window on the first day, and the ball of dread only grew in minghao’s stomach.

but now he’s _here_ , with the boy he’s known his entire life, leading him out of a grand and beautifully-designed church (minghao thinks he should come back and paint it some time, when his heart isn’t about to jump out of his chest and start doing laps like when they did track in p.e. back in grade 10) by the hand. minghao chances a glance at joshua, who’s smiling brightly in the different-colored lights of the _parols_ and the strings of lights with different soft drink bottles taped onto the bulbs, that lead all the way into the palengke a few steps away from the church.

joshua turns to minghao abruptly, a bright flush on his cheeks from the cold (or at least, yan yung inakala ni minghao) as he smiles widely at his friend, swinging their hands back and forth idly. “so! gutom ka ba? kasi yung isang stall near the front has, ah…” joshua pauses, scrunching his nose as he tries to think of the proper word.

minghao smiles fondly at his friend, reaching up to adjust the beanie on his hair as he lets out a giggle. “masarap?” he offers, tilting his head.

“ayon!” joshua points at him with a victorious smile. “yeah, masarap yung bananacue nila, and i know na yan yung favorite mo, yiee!” he nudges minghao in the side, threading his fingers through the other boy’s.

if you find out that minghao’s stomach dropped into his ass then jumped back into his throat, no you didn’t. and anyway, joshua’s wrong, because bananacue hasn’t been minghao’s favorite since the second christmas he spent at joshua’s house.

minghao swallows now as he remembers the way his heart seemed to strip itself bare in joshua’s presence, surrounded by glimmering christmas lights and the cheesy true value-bought decorations hung around the house — but joshua’s smile could never have been more genuine. and minghao remembers so, so vividly the way the gates of heaven might have opened themselves up in front of him, because when joshua came into the _sala_ carrying a tray of bibingka, coconut shavings, grated cheese, and caramel, minghao decided that his heart belonged to the very conyo boy that had then apologized because they ran out of fruit to make bananacue for christmas. 

“well, tama ka naman,” minghao huffs, lying through his teeth as he rolls his eyes with a fond smile on his face. “pero ayoko yung mga over 30 pesos na bananacue, ha? yan yung mga nagsasabi na quality bananacue tas ayun pala lasang tite,” he grumbles, shuffling closer to joshua. to share body heat. yes, because it’s cold — _not_ because joshua’s warm and smells like his mom’s homemade kakanin. of course not.

joshua chokes on a laugh, throwing his head back as he lets out bright chortles, clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle them. the kaleidoscope lights hit him just right, painting him in endless crystal greens and flowering reds and searing yellows, and minghao is absolutely _floored_ by the way his best friend looks laughing in the starlight and the cold like this.

minghao huffs, bumping joshua’s hip with his, causing the boy with platinum-dyed hair to giggle and pat his own head, adjusting his beanie that almost slipped off as he laughed. “hindi kaya siya ganun ka-funny,” minghao scoffs, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. his nose perks up when the familiar smell of caramelized sugar and toasted banana reaches him, and he takes a deep breath — which he later regrets, because the rush of cold air that comes in through his nostrils is enough to make him choke and let out a series of coughs into his elbows.

joshua laughs again, and once again, minghao’s face heats up as he averts his stare to the colorful palengke stalls around them, full of people and food that are so smiley and happy that you wouldn’t stop to think about how they’re some of the less fortunate individuals in the world, because they seem to have everything they ever need with them right now.

“ayun kasi, excited masyado para bumaboy ka on bananacue,” joshua snorts, glancing at his friend while minghao’s looking elsewhere. joshua studies the bag minghao clutches tightly to his side, wondering what could be in it, before he briefly looks down to his own small backpack he brought along.

joshua exhales heavily, causing a puff of cold air to leave him in the almost frigid night. his grip tightens on the strap, holding the bag close to him so he doesn’t jostle the goods inside around too much. before his mom had left for the weekend, he’d made a batch of bibingka with her, ignoring the flush on his face and the knowing grins and sly winks she’d given him all the while. the bibingka was, and still is, his favorite christmas snack — something he’d shared with his barkada of thirteen, of course. but he shared it with minghao first.

the two of them were both foreign kids in a foreign country, so when joshua met minghao and they bonded over the odd customs they’d slowly been getting used to over the years, the first thing joshua did was share with him a batch of the first filipino snack his mom learned to make; bibingka. bibingka with shaved coconut, bibingka with grated cheese, with ube, with caramel — it didn’t matter. it never mattered, really, and it still doesn’t, because now, whenever he eats bibingka, the sweetness comes less from the snack, and more from the memories of the boy he loves that come with it.

joshua’s step-grandmother, native in the philippines, had picked up on the fact that he had a crush, at least. she came up to him one christmas break — the first one minghao had spent with their family — and offered him a piece of advice; “ _bilhan mo siya ng bibingka_ ,” she’d said, a knowing grin on her warm, wrinkled features. “ _kung inenjoy niya yan, malalaman mo kung tinadhana kayo ni lord, maniwala ka sakin_.”

and, of course, being the theatre major he was, joshua had decided to take things a step further, and _made_ the bibingka himself (with his mom’s help, because he would have burnt the house down otherwise). he knows what everyone says about the first snow of the year; that you’re destined to be with the person you spend it with. so joshua had planned it all out _down to the wire_ . he knows well that it doesn’t snow in the philippines, but it _was_ forecasted to be snowing in korea on december 17th, so unfortunately, christmas in baguio is the closest he could get.

afterward, all that was left was to ask minghao to accompany him on a night of traditions tenderly spent with each other, and he’d passed that obstacle, too — so far, so good, joshua supposes. but now he’s watching minghao’s side profile in the colored lights of the palengke, and his eyes carefully trace every feature and commit them to memory, like minghao would vanish into smoke right before him if he didn’t hold him tight enough (so joshua squeezes minghao’s hand, and the other boy squeezes back, but joshua’s fingers are too numb to notice).

… spending christmas in baguio without gloves was not joshua’s smartest decision.

they approach the stall selling bananacue, and joshua begrudgingly slips his hand out of minghao’s to buy two fresh sticks and pay for them (“aba, puta, salamat nalang na twenty five pesos lang sila,” minghao huffs, a smile on his face when he sees joshua giggle at his words). once the street food is safe in their grip, joshua leads minghao further through the palengke, the chattering noises of vendors selling and tourists buying bringing the boys into a peaceful lull.

“napansin mo ba,” minghao murmurs, breaking the bubble of silence around the two as he bites into the last bit of his bananacue with a crunch, “na yung mga tao na’to… well. they’re so contented with what they have — ang lamig-lamig, pero they look so warm when it comes down to it.” he watches a young girl run up to her parents, sat behind a stall that sells thick, knitted sweaters, and she jumps into her dad’s lap with a cheerful laugh, bundled in a sweater two sizes too large for her. her mother chuckles and places a knitted beanie on her head, probably berating her gently for being underdressed for baguio’s cold climate.

“bakit kaya?” minghao asks joshua, turning to look at his best friend as they leave the palengke and step onto the quiet street. it’s past one in the morning; the palengke is awake, but the rest of the mountain city is asleep. the lamp posts with hanging _parols_ on them cast pretty shadows over the two, painting them in colors that are both extraordinary and droll, common, but are simultaneously the most wondrous hues to come into existence, simply because they found themselves cast upon the two boys who hold the world and each others’ hearts in their hands.

they’re both rendered breathless when they look at each other in the quiet light of the moon and the expert painter’s strokes of the christmas lights, made with love and plastic soft drink bottles. there’s a beat of silence where they look at each other, hearts louder than the near-quiet street of the city.

“... shua?” minghao doesn’t think he can stand the silence much longer without doing something impulsive (like kissing his best friend) or crazy (like kissing his best friend). he holds his bag closer to his side, like protective armor. he laughs nervously, “narinig mo ba ako? m-maybe — baka — puta, sorry, it’s a stupid question —”

“kasi,” joshua begins to answer, glancing from his backpack to minghao. he pulls the bag to his front, opening the zipper slightly and pulling out an opaque purple tupperware, smiling shyly at his friend. “kasi kasama nila yung taong pinakamahal nila sa buong mundo,” he says, like the final nail in the coffin — like the first page of a new story. 

minghao is speechless as he watches joshua step half a foot closer to him, taking one of his hands and slipping the tupperware into it. “buksan mo,” joshua urges softly, glancing anxiously over minghao’s face. minghao doesn’t need to open it to see what’s inside, but he does anyway, and it’s like he opens his ribcage and his heart breathes in the first bit of fresh air since he’d given it over to joshua on that fateful christmas day three years ago.

it’s bibingka. minghao blinks at it, then giggles. then he snorts, and laughs, and chortles with his whole chest, in the chilly wind that seems to pick up as thunder rolls somewhere in the distance.

joshua doesn’t know what to say — honestly, he’s halfway to asking minghao if he has a fever when minghao gently puts the cover back onto the tupperware and gives it back to him. joshua’s heart almost shatters, before minghao pulls out a box of his own, peeling off the cover and staring at joshua with a breathless smile.

bibingka.

joshua understands why minghao is smiling and laughing like he can finally breathe properly. joshua takes minghao’s box of bibingka and places it atop his own, closing it snugly before looking up at his best friend like the parol lights paint the two in an entirely new light. 

thunder cracks again, closer this time, and somewhere in the back of his mind, joshua remembers a french saying about falling in love as thunder strikes. unfortunately for whoever came up with that, both boys have been in love _long_ before the rolling thunder made itself heard.

joshua reaches over the same time minghao does, cupping the chinese boy’s face carefully — _he’s made of porcelain and pinky promises,_ joshua thinks — and leaning in slowly. minghao’s hands find themselves on joshua’s waist, bunched up in his thick jacket as the older boy finally, _finally_ leans in and presses his lips to minghao’s.

and it’s like they’re breathing new air, in this space, this little pocket of the universe that they carved out for each other and made their home in. thunder rolls above them, and little droplets of rain come down from the dark clouds, blocking out the stars and the moon and pouring steadily harder upon the sidewalk and the boys until they’re drenched. 

minghao squeaks and begrudgingly pulls away from kissing joshua like he’s the air he needs to breathe, a dark flush on his face as he stares wide-eyed at his best friend (boy… friend?). “ _putangina!_ ” he laughs, trying to look worried but ultimately failing. _he’s so, so bright_ , joshua thinks. 

joshua can barely register minghao pulling him across the street and under the overhang of a starbucks, almost empty save for a few stragglers drinking warm drinks under the orange-tinted fluorescent lights. he’s too busy staring at the boy he _finally_ managed to get, after what seems like centuries of pining and heartaches and crumpled pieces of paper in his trash can with scratched-out confession plans on them written in the middle of learning about mesopotamia. 

joshua opens his backpack hurriedly, haphazardly stuffing the bibingka back inside before zipping it shut. “minghao,” he says over the clamor and clatter of the rain on the pavement and the overhang above them. minghao turns to him with a curious look on his flushed face, to accompany the lightly kiss-bruised lips that curve into a bright smile.

“joshua?” he answers back, spoken with reverence; a spell woven through with love. minghao thinks christmas miracles might just _actually_ be real, as he smiles at the boy who’s held his heart in his hands for years. 

joshua cups minghao’s face, holding him in his hands like he were atlas and minghao was the weight he’d gladly taken on over a merienda spent eating bibingka on a december afternoon in grade eight. “minghao, nalalamigan ka ba?” he giggles out, bouncing in place like he were hopped up on sugar.

minghao rolls his eyes with a fond smile, placing his gloved hands over joshua’s trembling ones — because of adrenaline or the cold, neither could tell, and neither could care _less_ about that at the moment. “bakit, shua?”

“because i feel warm,” joshua whispers under the noise of the rain, an impossibly bright grin on his face as he admires minghao’s face. minghao hears him anyway. “i’m so, so warm.”

minghao sighs happily, parol lights and street lamps caught in his eyes and reflecting into joshua’s, like the sound of the first page to a newly bought book being turned as the story starts. “me, too, shua.” then he leans in and kisses joshua again. and again, and again, and again, until they’re breathless and the rain has stopped and they’re pretty sure they’re going to get sick tomorrow, but who cares?

minghao thinks he can hear angels singing and acoustic guitars playing somewhere in the background, but frankly, he couldn’t give two shits. he’d done everything he needed to do; spend a night with joshua, tell him he likes (loves. he loves joshua, so, so much) him, and give him the bibingka.

yeah. minghao has _everything_ under control.


	2. snowfall; english ver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u don't really have to read this one if u don't want to! i only added this in for the sake of the people who wanted to read it who can't understand the tagalog dialogue in the taglish version (this work does incorporate a lot of filipino traditions though, so apologies if u don't understand anything ;__;) :D enjoy!

minghao has everything under control.

he’s planned today out meticulously; from the time he’d wake up, what he’d bring to school, what he was going to wear, the time he was going to  _ actually do the thing _ (because he will! he swears!), to how he’d spend the rest of the day after actually doing the thing. 

minghao had taken it upon himself, with the help of mingyu and seokmin, to plan today out down to the t. he’d woken up at seven in the morning, just as he’d wanted, dressed in something warm but suitably casual for spending the day after school with his friends somewhere nice (he left this up to mingyu, which, knowing him, would probably be some unnecessarily large and expansive mall). he has the box of bibingka tucked in the top of his bag.

he closes the door to his dorm with a fond smile at the small tupperware (that used to have another type of kakanin in it, most likely — also courtesy of mingyu) through the opened zipper of his bag. this was joshua’s aunt’s recipe; it was his favorite, and also the  _ most _ important part in his plan today. it is very,  _ very _ important that the bibingka is kept safe, and that  _ nothing  _ gets in the way of the activities today — predetermined and discussed the day before with the rest of the group.

minghao  _ thinks _ he has everything under control. he was going to ask joshua if he could spend next weekend with him alone —  _ “i thought we were best friends?” _ he’d say, pouting (probably, because joshua was decidedly not immune to that stuff), and then joshua would agree and they’d spend saturday together. saturday, together,  _ alone,  _ because the first snowfall of the year was forecasted to happen that day.

seeing as minghao had previously thought he had everything under control, one could only imagine the surprise he felt when joshua had bounced up to him before they even left for breakfast starbucks (kasi maldita nga si mingyu), asking  _ minghao _ to spend saturday with  _ him _ instead.

“h-huh?” minghao blinks at joshua, at a loss for words. “what are you talking about?” it comes out a lot more masungit than he intended. oops.

joshua pouts, tugging at minghao’s sleeve (and it’s like minghao’s heart starts doing karaoke as joshua brings his face closer to his). “come on! my mom won’t be here this weekend, so she suggested that you and i spend the day together! we can go to  _ simbang gabi _ , it starts on saturday, anyway, then just walk around afterward!” he smiles brightly at minghao, whose insides melt like hot  _ taho _ at the sight.

and we all know how weak minghao is for joshua. “well…”

  
  
  


minghao does  _ not _ have everything under control.

_ puta _ . he can practically feel himself heating up even as joshua pulls him out of the church, a somber silence around the two to pay respects to the religious monument.  _ listen _ , when minghao agreed to go out with joshua on december 17th, he really didn’t expect it to come so  _ fast  _ — christmas break had started and they’d all dropped their schoolwork at the first cold draft that blew through their window on the first day, and the ball of dread only grew in minghao’s stomach.

but now he’s  _ here _ , with the boy he’s known his entire life, leading him out of a grand and beautifully-designed church (minghao thinks he should come back and paint it some time, when his heart isn’t about to jump out of his chest and start doing laps like when they did track in p.e. back in grade 10) by the hand. minghao chances a glance at joshua, who’s smiling brightly in the different-colored lights of the  _ parols  _ and the strings of lights with different soft drink bottles taped onto the bulbs, that lead all the way into the palengke a few steps away from the church.

joshua turns to minghao abruptly, a bright flush on his cheeks from the cold (or at least, that’s what minghao thinks) as he smiles widely at his friend, swinging their hands back and forth idly. “so! are you hungry? because the stall near the front has, ah…” joshua pauses, scrunching his nose as he tries to think of the proper word.

minghao smiles fondly at his friend, reaching up to adjust the beanie on his hair as he lets out a giggle. “delicious?” he offers, tilting his head.

“there!” joshua points at him with a victorious smile. “yeah, delicious bananacue, and i know that that’s your favorite!” he giggles and nudges minghao in the side, threading his fingers through the other boy’s.

if you find out that minghao’s stomach dropped into his ass then jumped back into his throat, no you didn’t. and anyway, joshua’s wrong, because bananacue hasn’t been minghao’s favorite since the second christmas he spent at joshua’s house.

minghao swallows now as he remembers the way his heart seemed to strip itself bare in joshua’s presence, surrounded by glimmering christmas lights and the cheesy true value-bought decorations hung around the house — but joshua’s smile could never have been more genuine. and minghao remembers so, so vividly the way the gates of heaven might have opened themselves up in front of him, because when joshua came into the  _ sala _ carrying a tray of bibingka, coconut shavings, grated cheese, and caramel, minghao decided that his heart belonged to the very conyo boy that had then apologized because they ran out of fruit to make bananacue for christmas. 

“well, i  _ guess _ you’re right,” minghao huffs, lying through his teeth as he rolls his eyes with a fond smile on his face. “but i don’t want bananacue over thirty pesos, okay? those are the vendors that say their bananacue is top quality but it ends out just tasting like cock,” he grumbles, shuffling closer to joshua. to share body heat. yes, because it’s cold —  _ not _ because joshua’s warm and smells like his mom’s homemade  _ kakanin _ . of course not.

joshua chokes on a laugh, throwing his head back as he lets out bright chortles, clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle them. the kaleidoscope lights hit him just right, painting him in endless crystal greens and flowering reds and searing yellows, and minghao is absolutely  _ floored _ by the way his best friend looks laughing in the starlight and the cold like this.

minghao huffs, bumping joshua’s hip with his, causing the boy with platinum-dyed hair to giggle and pat his own head, adjusting his beanie that almost slipped off as he laughed. “it wasn’t even that funny,” minghao scoffs, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. his nose perks up when the familiar smell of caramelized sugar and toasted banana reaches him, and he takes a deep breath — which he later regrets, because the rush of cold air that comes in through his nostrils is enough to make him choke and let out a series of coughs into his elbows.

joshua laughs again, and once again, minghao’s face heats up as he averts his stare to the colorful palengke stalls around them, full of people and food that are so smiley and happy that you wouldn’t stop to think about how they’re some of the less fortunate individuals in the world, because they seem to have everything they ever need with them right now.

“that’s what you get for being too excited to pig out on bananacue,” joshua snorts, glancing at his friend while minghao’s looking elsewhere. joshua studies the bag minghao clutches tightly to his side, wondering what could be in it, before he briefly looks down to his own small backpack he brought along.

joshua exhales heavily, causing a puff of cold air to leave him in the almost frigid night. his grip tightens on the strap, holding the bag close to him so he doesn’t jostle the goods inside around too much. before his mom had left for the weekend, he’d made a batch of bibingka with her, ignoring the flush on his face and the knowing grins and sly winks she’d given him all the while. the bibingka was, and still is, his favorite christmas snack — something he’d shared with his barkada of thirteen, of course. but he shared it with minghao first.

the two of them were both foreign kids in a foreign country, so when joshua met minghao and they bonded over the odd customs they’d slowly been getting used to over the years, the first thing joshua did was share with him a batch of the first filipino snack his mom learned to make; bibingka. bibingka with shaved coconut, bibingka with grated cheese, with ube, with caramel — it didn’t matter. it never mattered, really, and it still doesn’t, because now, whenever he eats bibingka, the sweetness comes less from the snack, and more from the memories of the boy he loves that come with it.

joshua’s step-grandmother, native in the philippines, had picked up on the fact that he had a crush, at least. she came up to him one christmas break — the first one minghao had spent with their family — and offered him a piece of advice; “ _ buy him bibingka _ ,” she’d said, a knowing grin on her warm, wrinkled features. “ _ if he likes it, that means you two have been created for each other by the lord, trust me. _ .”

and, of course, being the theatre major he was, joshua had decided to take things a step further, and  _ made _ the bibingka himself (with his mom’s help, because he would have burnt the house down otherwise). he knows what everyone says about the first snow of the year; that you’re destined to be with the person you spend it with. so joshua had planned it all out  _ down to the wire _ . he knows well that it doesn’t snow in the philippines, but it  _ was _ forecasted to be snowing in korea on december 17th, so unfortunately, christmas in baguio is the closest he could get.

afterward, all that was left was to ask minghao to accompany him on a night of traditions tenderly spent with each other, and he’d passed that obstacle, too — so far, so good, joshua supposes. but now he’s watching minghao’s side profile in the colored lights of the palengke, and his eyes carefully trace every feature and commit them to memory, like minghao would vanish into smoke right before him if he didn’t hold him tight enough (so joshua squeezes minghao’s hand, and the other boy squeezes back, but joshua’s fingers are too numb to notice).

… spending christmas in baguio without gloves was not joshua’s smartest decision.

they approach the stall selling bananacue, and joshua begrudgingly slips his hand out of minghao’s to buy two fresh sticks and pay for them (“thank  _ fuck _ that their bananacue is only twenty five pesos,” minghao huffs, a smile on his face when he sees joshua giggle at his words). once the street food is safe in their grip, joshua leads minghao further through the palengke, the chattering noises of vendors selling and tourists buying bringing the boys into a peaceful lull.

“have you noticed,” minghao murmurs, breaking the bubble of silence around the two as he bites into the last bit of his bananacue with a crunch, “that all these people… well. they’re so contented with what they have — it’s so  _ cold, _ yet they look so warm when it comes down to it.” he watches a young girl run up to her parents, sat behind a stall that sells thick, knitted sweaters, and she jumps into her dad’s lap with a cheerful laugh, bundled in a sweater two sizes too large for her. her mother chuckles and places a knitted beanie on her head, probably berating her gently for being underdressed for baguio’s cold climate.

“why do you think?” minghao asks joshua, turning to look at his best friend as they leave the palengke and step onto the quiet street. it’s past one in the morning; the palengke is awake, but the rest of the mountain city is asleep. the lamp posts with hanging  _ parols _ on them cast pretty shadows over the two, painting them in colors that are both extraordinary and droll, common, but are simultaneously the most wondrous hues to come into existence, simply because they found themselves cast upon the two boys who hold the world and each others’ hearts in their hands.

they’re both rendered breathless when they look at each other in the quiet light of the moon and the expert painter’s strokes of the christmas lights, made with love and plastic soft drink bottles. there’s a beat of silence where they look at each other, hearts louder than the near-quiet street of the city.

“... shua?” minghao doesn’t think he can stand the silence much longer without doing something impulsive (like kissing his best friend) or crazy (like kissing his best friend). he holds his bag closer to his side, like protective armor. he laughs nervously, “did you hear me? m-maybe — i mean — fuck, sorry, it’s a stupid question —”

“because,” joshua begins to answer, glancing from his backpack to minghao. he pulls the bag to his front, opening the zipper slightly and pulling out an opaque purple tupperware, smiling shyly at his friend. “it’s because they’re with the people they love most in the world, more than anything,” he says, like the final nail in the coffin — like the first page of a new story. 

minghao is speechless as he watches joshua step half a foot closer to him, taking one of his hands and slipping the tupperware into it. “open it,” joshua urges softly, glancing anxiously over minghao’s face. minghao doesn’t need to open it to see what’s inside, but he does anyway, and it’s like he opens his ribcage and his heart breathes in the first bit of fresh air since he’d given it over to joshua on that fateful christmas day three years ago.

it’s bibingka. minghao blinks at it, then giggles. then he snorts, and laughs, and chortles with his whole chest, in the chilly wind that seems to pick up as thunder rolls somewhere in the distance.

joshua doesn’t know what to say — honestly, he’s halfway to asking minghao if he has a fever when minghao gently puts the cover back onto the tupperware and gives it back to him. joshua’s heart almost shatters, before minghao pulls out a box of his own, peeling off the cover and staring at joshua with a breathless smile.

bibingka.

joshua understands why minghao is smiling and laughing like he can finally breathe properly. joshua takes minghao’s box of bibingka and places it atop his own, closing it snugly before looking up at his best friend like the parol lights paint the two in an entirely new light. 

thunder cracks again, closer this time, and somewhere in the back of his mind, joshua remembers a french saying about falling in love as thunder strikes. unfortunately for whoever came up with that, both boys have been in love  _ long _ before the rolling thunder made itself heard.

joshua reaches over the same time minghao does, cupping the chinese boy’s face carefully —  _ he’s made of porcelain and pinky promises, _ joshua thinks — and leaning in slowly. minghao’s hands find themselves on joshua’s waist, bunched up in his thick jacket as the older boy finally,  _ finally _ leans in and presses his lips to minghao’s.

and it’s like they’re breathing new air, in this space, this little pocket of the universe that they carved out for each other and made their home in. thunder rolls above them, and little droplets of rain come down from the dark clouds, blocking out the stars and the moon and pouring steadily harder upon the sidewalk and the boys until they’re drenched. 

minghao squeaks and begrudgingly pulls away from kissing joshua like he’s the air he needs to breathe, a dark flush on his face as he stares wide-eyed at his best friend (boy… friend?). “ _ putangina! _ ” he laughs, trying to look worried but ultimately failing.  _ he’s so, so bright _ , joshua thinks. 

joshua can barely register minghao pulling him across the street and under the overhang of a starbucks, almost empty save for a few stragglers drinking warm drinks under the orange-tinted fluorescent lights. he’s too busy staring at the boy he  _ finally _ managed to get, after what seems like centuries of pining and heartaches and crumpled pieces of paper in his trash can with scratched-out confession plans on them written in the middle of learning about mesopotamia. 

joshua opens his backpack hurriedly, haphazardly stuffing the bibingka back inside before zipping it shut. “minghao,” he says over the clamor and clatter of the rain on the pavement and the overhang above them. minghao turns to him with a curious look on his flushed face, to accompany the lightly kiss-bruised lips that curve into a bright smile.

“joshua?” he answers back, spoken with reverence; a spell woven through with love. minghao thinks christmas miracles might just  _ actually _ be real, as he smiles at the boy who’s held his heart in his hands for years. 

joshua cups minghao’s face, holding him in his hands like he were atlas and minghao was the weight he’d gladly taken on over a merienda spent eating bibingka on a december afternoon in grade eight. “minghao, are you cold?” he giggles out, bouncing in place like he were hopped up on sugar.

minghao rolls his eyes with a fond smile, placing his gloved hands over joshua’s trembling ones — because of adrenaline or the cold, neither could tell, and neither could care  _ less _ about that at the moment. “why do you ask, shua?”

“because i feel warm,” joshua whispers under the noise of the rain, an impossibly bright grin on his face as he admires minghao’s face. minghao hears him anyway. “i’m so, so warm.”

minghao sighs happily, parol lights and street lamps caught in his eyes and reflecting into joshua’s, like the sound of the first page to a newly bought book being turned as the story starts. “me, too, shua.” then he leans in and kisses joshua again. and again, and again, and again, until they’re breathless and the rain has stopped and they’re pretty sure they’re going to get sick tomorrow, but who cares?

minghao thinks he can hear angels singing and acoustic guitars playing somewhere in the background, but frankly, he couldn’t give two shits. he’d done everything he needed to do; spend a night with joshua, tell him he likes (loves. he loves joshua, so, so much) him, and give him the bibingka.

yeah. minghao has  _ everything _ under control.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope u enjoyed reading it! i worked really hard lmao and it's one of my favorite things i've written since quarantine started <3 thank u for . u know . taking time to read my entry !!


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